


Home Remedy

by collatorsden_archivist



Category: Ashes to Ashes, Life on Mars & Related Fandoms, Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, R/NC-17 - Brown Cortina, Time Period: 1973-1981 (Life on Mars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-07
Updated: 2008-04-07
Packaged: 2019-01-20 20:03:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12440601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collatorsden_archivist/pseuds/collatorsden_archivist
Summary: This headache was much, much worse than usual.





	Home Remedy

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Janni, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [the Collators' Den](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Collators%27_Den), which was moved to the AO3 to ensure access and longevity for the fanworks. I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the Collators' Den collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/collatorsden/profile).

  
Author's notes: For Andy, a belated migraine cure...>3  


* * *

He'd been like this for days, now.

 

 

Every day, it got a little worse, and a little worse, and every time he thought to himself it couldn't possibly do. But of course, it did, to the point where Sam wasn't sure how, exactly, his eyeballs were still firmly affixed in their sockets. Surely with this much pressure, something _had_ to give?

 

 

"Buck up, Gladys, there's a lad! I, as usual, have got the solution to _all_ your troubles!" Gene entered the room, thumped Sam soundly on the back, and grinned as he stood over his DI, who was busy recovering from the blow and hunched in a tautly radiating ball of pain in front of his desk.

 

 

"I don't think the boozer's gonna help me this time, Guv." Sam managed to croak, in a voice scarcely above a whisper. 

 

 

"You look like something my mother-in-law's dog sicked up all over our rug. If you're feeling so bad, what are you doing here?" Gene looked concerned for a moment, then shrugged and shook a Marlboro out of its packet.

 

 

Sam started slightly, peering distrustfully upwards to see if this was some sort of joke, for he well knew the sort of thumping he could expect to receive if he'd called off sick. Or _did_ he? Maybe he was still too hung-up on the world he'd left behind, where indeed he'd have faced massive repercussions had he ever called off sick. _No, no, shouldn't have looked up..._ interrupted this stream of thought as the engorged orbs that he liked to call eyes protested painfully against the cruelty of simple rotation.

 

 

As Sam winced and squeezed his painful eyes shut, Gene gave him a long, appraising glance as he took the first drag off his cig. Finally coming to some sort of conclusion, he stood up from where he'd been leaning against the wall opposite Sam and grabbed Sam under the arms, heaving him upward.

 

 

"C'mon, you're with me. I know just the thing."

 

 

"Really, Guv, I don't think I should be moving just now..." Sam said, but didn't physically fight back even a little.

 

 

This alarmed Gene more than anything Sam could have said, so much so that he didn't even formulate a response, proper or otherwise.

******

Once Sam was flopped over the passenger's seat of the Cortina, Gene felt a little safer as he slid into the driver's seat.

 

 

"We're going to play a little game, you and me," he paused long enough to take a _really_ long drag off his cig.

 

 

No response.

 

 

"Oi! You still with us, Sammy-boy?" Gene's elbow flashed out, although it was somewhat gentler than usual.

 

 

"Mmmmmmmppph!" came a grumbly, groany response.

 

 

_No good_ , Gene thought as he sped up.

******

"Now keep your eyes shut and do as I say," Gene ordered as he hoisted Sam's prone form up and onto his shoulders. Truth was, he wasn't entirely sure Sam was still conscious, but it made him feel better to talk like he was.

 

 

Gene slammed the door to Sam's flat down in record time, even for him. Depositing the leather-clad ragdoll that had been his DI down on his bed, Gene lunged a few steps over to the loo and hastily scrubbed his hands.

 

 

He then took a small bottle out of one of the many pockets in his cavernous camel coat and began rubbing his hands together to warm them. 

 

 

With surgical precision, he rolled Sam over and removed his jacket and shirt, then removed his own camel coat and rolled up his sleeves to well above the elbows. Bottle in hand, he squirted a small amount of its contents directly into his left palm, then rubbed his hands together vigorously enough that they made a slightly liquid, squelchy noise.

 

 

He started near the neck, massaging the oil into the base of Sam's neck with surprisingly limber fingers. Sam continued to remain unconscious, so Gene continued his ministrations. Fingers, thumbs, heels of his palms...he circled slowly, then faster, alternating his rhythms when the mood struck. Up, down, all around Sam's back and shoulders, and especially along his spine; he knew that was where most of the tension was stored up, after all, so it stood to reason it should _get_ the most attention.

 

 

Feeling inspired, he then flipped Sam over onto his back. And then had a mighty chuckle. "What's this, then?"

 

 

The "this" to which Gene was referring was a very noticeable tent pitched in his unconscious DI's trousers.

 

 

"Well, obviously I've had _some_ effect," Gene said to no-one in particular, then wondered if he was going as mad as his DI for having said that aloud to no-one in particular. 

 

 

Feeling wicked, he then proceeded to see just how far he could take this little game. Off came Sam's too-tight trousers, and rather more easily than Gene would have suspected. Although he would still refer to the action internally in later remembrances as "peeling." 

 

 

"I _knew_ there was no room under there!" Gene laughed again as Sam's raging erection now sprung completely loose and bounced and bobbed in front of him, freed from the confines of his trousers, which had been all that held it back from the world-at-large.

 

 

He then began massaging his unconscious DI, lightly cupping his balls and letting the slickness of the oil guide his hands where they willed. He looked up, cautiously. Still no response.

 

 

So he continued, on and on. Sam moaned slightly in his sleep, but didn't waken. 

 

 

Then the moans became louder, and turned into grunts as Sam writhed underneath Gene's steady, strong hands. Realising he was about to have a disaster of monumental proportions on his hands, Gene reached hastily around for the first bit of likely cloth he could find. And winced---surely that wasn't the best leather cream for that tarty, tempting jacket of Sam's, was it?

 

 

As if on cue, Sam managed to prise his left eyelid open, followed closely by the right.

 

 

"I'd have reported my headache to you _days_ ago if I'd known you had magic fingers, Guv." He still wasn't entirely convinced he wasn't dreaming, but he figured he might as well go along with it. Much nicer than those other dreams he'd been having lately, at the very least.

 

 

"They don't call me the Gene Genie for nothing," Gene still managed to look smug, despite his mussed hair and slickened, slippery hands busily tucking Sam back into his trousers.

 

 

"Not so fast, Guv," Sam growled warningly as he shot up into a sitting position. "You're not through yet. I've not had my happy ending!"


End file.
